


Another Man's Grave

by Onceyourempire



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - Noir, I'm not sure what else to tag its a 20s mob au people die and mccree only has one arm?, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, also they were both in wwi, ask to tag
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2016-10-26
Packaged: 2018-08-18 19:55:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8174036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Onceyourempire/pseuds/Onceyourempire
Summary: “How many times can you dig another man's grave before someone digs yours, Reyes?”Gabriel stops cold. He turns slowly, and looks at Jesse, who is looking right back at him. He’s still sitting halfway in the grave with his face lit  by the glow of the flashlight. Gabriel can’t read his expression.“Is that a threat, boy?”Jesse looks away first, then begins to stand. He walks to the hearse and only stops after he’s wrestled the back open.“It’s a concern, Captain. I’d hate to see a man die twice.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Let's see if I keep my forward motion going on this AU, huh? I'm going to try my best to actually finish it, since I have a lot of passion for this era in history and my blackwatch boys. i just noticed i didnt write a description. Im so tired.
> 
> Art inspiration: http://humbertsobek.tumblr.com/post/150217741278/1920s-mob-au-hitmanreyes-and-gangstermccree + http://humbertsobek.tumblr.com/post/150444503803/still-the-1920s-mob-au-i-guess-i-wont-draw-more
> 
>  
> 
> Special shoutout to the mcreyes discord for fueling me and inspiring me to finally write OW fic.

Jesse Mccree stands outside the police station and waits. He thinks about lighting a cigarette, but he isn’t sure when his contact will come out. He doesn’t want to be interrupted halfway through and have to stub it out. He likes the action of it, the moments of time he gets to steal for himself while he smokes, and he hates to have to cut it short. He leans against the brick wall, pulls the collar of his coat a little closer, and waits.

+++

“Gabriel --”

Gabriel Reyes tries to ignore his captain. It doesn’t work. It rarely does.

“Gabe, this is important.” Jack says, moving into his field of view. He looks tired, because John Morrison has looked tired since 1916. His sleeves are rolled up, and there’s ink stains on his right hand. Most of the lights are out in the office already, so the ink stains barely show in the shadows cast across Jack’s hand. Gabriel knows he’s hyper-observing to try and tune out what Jack is saying to him, but it’s only mostly working. Jack’s hand slams on his desk, and Gabriel finally meets his eyes, grimacing.

“You --” It’s Jack’s turn to grimace as he edits himself, “-- We can’t keep doing this. Someone’s going to find out.”

Half of Jack’s face has been thrown into black, but the half that’s lit by the lamp on Gabriel’s desk looks concerned. He has ink on his face too, somehow. He’s becoming more of a mess as the days go on, and that’s no longer Gabriel’s problem.

“You’re in this with me, Jack.” Gabriel responds, keeping his tone low and calm. “If they find out about me, you’re not far behind. If I don’t keep doing this, who do you think will snitch first? I’m sure the Russians would love to replace you with someone a little less uptight, someone who could turn the whole department to their side.” Gabriel steps in, and Jack grits his teeth. They’re eye to eye. 

The silence is long and thin. Gabriel thinks his hands would be shaking if they weren’t casually tucked in his pants pockets. Jack blinks, and the dark circles under his eyes look like coal smudges.

“Be careful, Gabe. Please.” Jack says, and his hand _is_ shaking when he removes it from the desk. He brushes past, back into his office, and leaves Gabriel alone. The sounds coming in from the open window across the room suddenly seem painfully loud. Gabriel reaches over and switches off his desk lamp.

+++

Someone exits the police station, finally. Jesse stands up straight and looks over at the doors. He could have smoked two damn cigarettes in the time this man took. He takes a deep breath in through his nose and quickly ducks into the alley to the side after he’s sure the officer has seen him.

The man who follows him in is of his height, but broader. His coat is black and his hat obscures his face. Jesse would be intimidated if he was a lesser man. Instead, he smiles and leans against the brick again.

The man leans against the opposite wall, into the darkness, and lifts a hand to tip his hat back. Jesse can’t see his face, but he hears the sharp intake of breath.

“Sound like you’ve seen a ghost” Jesse jokes, keeping his voice low. His contact huffs his exhale out, and taps the heel of his shoe against the wall.

“Mccree.” the man says. He leans forward. The warm light from the street lamp shows Jesse one of his own personal ghosts, and he chokes a little. Gabriel Reyes was a man he would have died for. Gabriel Reyes was the man he almost died for, more than once. Gabriel Reyes pulled him up from the trenches and watched him learn to shoot. Gabriel Reyes is the reason one of his arms is wooden. Gabriel Reyes was supposed to have died in 1918.

“Captain.” Jesse says, and clenches his fists in his coat pockets.

Gabriel leans back and his features vanish again. Maybe Jesse made them up, put together the pieces in the wrong order to make a stranger into someone else. Jesse takes out a cigarette, and lights it. He hesitates, and offers one to Gabriel. Gabriel reaches forward, and Jesse sees the scars on his fingers. From flipping a knife the wrong way around when he was young, he told Jesse once. Jesse never really believed him.

Gabriel borrows his lighter too, and the flame illuminates his face for a second. Scars on his mouth, wrapped around a cigarette. One across his nose. Brows furrowed in concentration. It’s familiar and it shakes him up much worse than he could have anticipated. Their fingers touch when Gabriel hands the lighter back, and Jesse snaps his hand back as fast as he can. 

Gabriel lets his first mouthful of smoke billow out before he speaks. It plumes and twists up and Jesse watches it go so he doesn’t have to meet Gabriel’s eyes.

“You need something, McCree. Tell me.” Jesse looks back, surprised. Gabriel had always been straight to the point, and death apparently had let him keep that.

“All business, huh? Not gonna talk about where you went, Captain?” He says the word captain like a curse, pulling his lips back in a snarl around the a. He was so heartbroken. He was so alone. Gabriel growls right back, and stubs his half burned cigarette out on the wall. 

“Not now, son.” He snaps, “Now, I fix your problem and we get away from this station before anyone sees us.”

Gabriel turns and walks away from him, back into the light. Jesse watches him, thinking he won’t look back. Captain Reyes was always so sure of his troops. He didn’t ever need to see if they followed, just knew, like he could feel their hands on his back as he pushed the lines forward. 

Gabriel Reyes of the LA Police department does look back. He stands on the sidewalk and looks at McCree and waits for him. The reaper took something from him after all. Jesse drops his cigarette butt on the ground and follows, as he did years before.

+++

Gabriel digs the blade of his shovel into the bottom of a shallow grave, and looks up at the stars.

“Can’t dig graves like this,” Jesse had explained, gesturing to his oddly-hanging left arm. “Prosthetic keeps the stares away but ain’t good for much else.” Gabriel looked away quickly. “I’d get one of my boys to do it like normal, but they’re all tied up in other affairs. You don’t need to worry about shootin’.” Jesse added, smiling wide. “I got that covered.”

Gabriel hadn’t seen Jesse shoot since before -- since the war. He’d been good then, but now? Gabriel had been in doubt, kept his hand on his pistol as they slid into an abandoned warehouse. Jesse had tried to insist he stay outside, but he’d refused. In for a penny in for a pound. Jack would be furious. Gabriel didn’t care. 

“Should only be six people here,” Jesse whispered, following the line of the right wall to a set of iron stairs leading to the next floor. “Better be only six people. Anymore and I’ll need to reload.”

There were thankfully six exactly, all huddled together over a desk in the office upstairs. Gabriel stayed outside, keeping an eye on the situation through a broad window in the wall. Jesse opened the door, grinned, and raised his revolver. All six men were dead on the ground before any of them could draw their own guns. Gabriel swallowed hard and walked into the office. 

“Got it covered, huh?” he said, holstering his weapon. Jesse looked over his shoulder and smiled again, a little tighter. 

“Didn’t stop bein’ a good aim just ‘cause I stopped bein’ a good soldier. Help me out.”

Gabriel muscled the bodies out to a hearse they’d picked up while McCree finished his business. Gabriel didn’t ask. Every time he came into the office, something was moved or different or missing, and Gabriel didn’t ask. They drove outside of town, and he started to dig. Neither of them had mentioned the idea of a group grave. The thought leaves a taste in Gabriel’s mouth that’s old and familiar and hands deep in a past they’re ignoring. He’s on the 5th grave now. 

“Beautiful, right?” Jesse asks, and Gabriel looks back at him. “The sky, I mean.” he adds. Jesse has his sleeves rolled up, and he’s removed his prosthetic. One of his legs dangles into the grave. He looks casual, which is not a great look for burying bodies after you shot all of them in cold blood. The man behind him is not the man who ran from him in France, and Gabriel starts to dig again.

“It’s something.” 

Jesse laughs, and the sound cuts through the cold night air. Gabriel has to stop again. He closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath. He thinks he smells the trenches. He opens his eyes and starts working harder.

“It’s more than somethin’. You can’t see anythin’ like this in the city these days.” Jesse sighs and awkwardly heaves himself to his feet. “Makes me wish I could move away.”

“Don’t move the flashlight so much.”

“You try standin’ up when you only got one arm, see how still you keep a flashlight.”

Gabriel rolls his eyes and throws the shovel up onto the dirt. He heaves himself out and slaps his hands clean on his pants. They’re ruined. His dry cleaning bills have been getting too high recently. McCree better pay well. “Stop climbin’ into other mens’ graves then.”

“I could say the same thing to you, but that ain’t gonna stop either of us, is it?” Jesse retorts, and walks with him five feet to the left. Gabriel heaves a sigh and digs his shovel into the dirt.

The tense but companionable silence keeps until he's three feet down and Jesse’s sitting again.

“Why do you do this, Captain?” Jesse asks, in a voice quieter than Gabriel has ever heard from him. Gabriel grunts, and only barely hits Jesse with his next shovelful of dirt.

“Someone has to. If we were all upright, it would be harder to keep the gangs in line. I’m keeping the peace, McCree, same as the rest of them.” He says, and he mostly believes it. That was always the intention. That’s why they started doing this, he and Jack. Some of it was for the money, money to keep Ana’s orphaned girl in clothes and in school and out of trouble. A lot of it was for information that could be used to stamp out the more troublesome elements. The rest? He’s not totally certain anymore. The years have been long. 

“You don’t worry?” Jesse’s voice is only a little louder now, and more weary. 

“About?” Gabriel looks over his shoulder. Jesse’s looking at the sky again and Gabriel can’t really see his face. He looks down so his eye isn’t drawn to where Jesse’s forearm used to be. 

Jesse doesn’t reply for a long few minutes, and Gabriel lets the conversation drop. He’s almost done with this grave. Then it’s moving the bodies in, covering them up again, and finally, he can drive away. He can pretend he’s still dead in the mind of Jesse McCree. He can swallow the guilt again, pretend he did something good, and go home. Maybe he’ll even sleep. He climbs out of the grave, and starts to walk back to the hearse.

“How many times can you dig another man's grave before someone digs yours, Reyes?”

Gabriel stops cold. He turns slowly, and looks at Jesse, who is looking right back at him. He’s still sitting halfway in the grave with his face lit by the glow of the flashlight. Gabriel can’t read his expression.

“Is that a threat, boy?”

Jesse looks away first, then begins to stand. He walks to the hearse and only stops after he’s wrestled the back open.

“It’s a concern, Captain. I’d hate to see a man die twice.”

The flashlight is clicked off, and Gabriel can see the lines of Jesse’s body without distraction. His body language is tense, but not angry. His shoulders are curling in on themselves. Jesse looks up, and Gabriel moves towards him. He slots the shovel around the bodies.

“I’m not dying anytime soon, McCree.” Gabriel only barely sees the smile on Jesse’s face before they start to drag one of the bodies.

+++

Gabriel doesn’t sleep at all that night. He doesn’t even try. He barely closes his eyes, for fear of what he’ll see projected on the insides of his lids. He works instead, as he always does. He lights a cigarette, but barely smokes it. He doesn’t mind wasting one or two, because the action of smoking has always been more of a comfort than a desire. He watches the embers drop into the ashtray, and thinks of Jesse McCree. He sighs, puts the cigarette down in the tray, and works.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: there will be gore in this chapter. I doubt it will be a reoccurring event but there is a war flashback and WWI was nothing if not brutal. If that is a trigger for you, skip the fourth section of the fic. Sections are separated by +++.
> 
> I love writing historical fic but golly I obsess over the smallest things. Lot of research. Learned a lot about coffee and military rankings? I wanted Jack to be Navy but I couldn't quite make that work for me. Anyway, the moral is I now have a folder in my bookmarks for research for this fic.
> 
> Also, I made a playlist of music I listen to while writing this fic, in case anyone is interested in that kind of thing: http://8tracks.com/subjectempire/in-real-deep

Gabriel grasps for the collar of Jesse’s suit jacket. Jesse manages to slip out of his fingers. He falls. There’s gunshots as well as a loud clang, and Gabriel turns to see that the door behind him is still solid. Jesse is laughing below him and Gabriel looks over the railing to see Jesse clumsily extracting himself from a pile of garbage. The bastard gave himself a garbage can as a target to ease his fall. Jesse looks up and grins before slapping dirt off his hat. He adjusts it back onto his head and flicks the brim up with one finger.

“You comin’?” He hollers up, causing Gabriel to groan. “I’ll catch you.” Jesse adds with a wink, gesturing with his right arm. Gabriel groans louder. The door is creaking though, so Gabriel barely looks before vaulting over the railing.

 

+++

 

The week after the reunion had found Jesse McCree digging for information on how the hell Gabriel had survived the war. The reports had said everyone had died, Captain Gabriel Reyes included. Considering there had been no survivors on either side, it was difficult to find any reports about what had really happened. The only one from a commanding officer was from Major John Morrison, whose troops had arrived hours too late to save anyone. His report stated that not a single member of Jesse’s platoon had lived. Jesse himself had been long gone by that point, keeping his head down in dusty towns back home in the States. Once upon a time, he may have been able to pull some strings with old friends, use names as stepping stools to reach for information otherwise out of his hands, but now? If they learn he’s alive, he’ll be taken before the courts for a veritable laundry list of crimes. His criminal connections get him nowhere with state secrets.

Jesse decides to go to the source.

Gabriel looks startled to see him at the door, but ushers him anyway. He doesn’t ask how Jesse got his address, but perhaps he knows better.

“Did anyone see you?” Gabriel asks, walking towards a table scattered with folders and papers. He shuffles them together and doesn’t look over when Jesse makes himself comfortable at one of the chairs near him.

“I know better than that.” Jesse grins, showing his canines. “You taught me better than that.” Gabriel’s hands stop. He sighs. He keeps cleaning.

“Any reason you decided to drop by?” Gabriel clacks the ends of the folders efficiently against the tabletop and takes them into another room out of Jesse’s sight. “Beyond picking a fight?”

Jesse taps his fingers against the table. He doesn’t think he came to pick a fight, not really, always hated fighting without purpose. He has questions, not all of them useful, and really --

Gabriel comes back into the room and looks at him, squinting, before going into what is probably a kitchen.

“Coffee?” He calls out, and Jesse hears mugs clink.

“Yep.” Jesse responds, purposefully ignoring Gabriel laughing at his answer. He looks around the apartment. It’s decently clean. There’s a couple of photos on the wall. Jesse vaguely knows the faces from two small crumpled photographs Gabriel had kept on him before. He can’t remember their names. It feels comfortable, lived in. It feels like someone’s home, and it’s so odd to realize that all those years Jesse had been grieving, Gabriel had been living here. He’d settled down so close to Jesse, and Jesse had never even known. It kind of gives him the shivers, so he stands up and goes to the kitchen.

Gabriel is leaning against a counter when he walks in, arms crossed and staring blankly at the coffee pot on the stove. Jesse suddenly sees gray in his beard and the circles under his eyes. Time has dragged on Gabriel Reyes. Jesse rolls up his left sleeve and then vaguely shoves up the right one. Gabriel watches the movement and winces. He tries to cover it up by fussing with his own shirt sleeves, but Jesse sees it. He remembers receiving letters from Gabriel when he was in the hospital. He never read them. He still has them somewhere, maybe.

The coffee pot begins to boil over and Gabriel starts, rushing to it. Jesse laughs. He watches Gabriel go through the motions of straining out the grounds. He almost makes a comment about how old Gabriel is, still using that ancient thing, why not get a percolator like everyone else, but the ritual of it is soothing to watch. Gabriel seems to be doing through muscle memory, but his face isn’t scrunching up for once. Jesse hopes this visit won’t end in a screaming match, because the careful quiet in the warm glow of the kitchen light is nice. He wants to preserve it. Gabriel hands him a mug and walks towards the fridge. Jesse abruptly realizes he doesn’t have to take his coffee black anymore. He hasn’t had any since the war.

“How long are you going to stall, McCree?” Gabriel asks, head in the fridge. Jesse bites his upper lip and leans against another counter.

“I didn’t come here to fight.” He starts, taking his time. He knows it would be easy for him to let it all out, his anger, the grief, the pit in his chest full of bad dreams and fear and regret. Gabriel doesn’t deserve that. He didn’t really do anything wrong. He couldn’t have known. Jesse takes a deep breath, in and out. He better not have known.

“What then?” Gabriel gently stirs milk into his coffee and lazily flicks the spoon into the sink. He shoots Jesse a look and mirrors his casual stance.

“All official records show you died. You didn’t. What happened? Is there anyone else?”

 

(Did you try to find me, when it was over? Were you angry? Were you glad? Did you think I was dead? Are you happy? Are you okay? Did you miss me? Captain, did you miss me at all?)

 

Gabriel shifts his weight. “No one else lived. It was just me. I was --” he grimaces, “-- I only lived because of my training. They brought me home because I was too valuable to die. They didn’t want anyone to know I lived, so they forced Jack to lie. I don’t remember much.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.” Gabriel takes a long drink of his coffee and walks out towards the main room. “Anything else?”

 

(Did you know I was here? Did you know, and never tried to hunt me down, never told me you were alive? Did it not cross your mind? I missed you. Captain, I missed you so much.)

 

“Business, mostly. You have time?” Jesse follows him out, settling back down at the table.

Gabriel snorts, but takes a seat. “Sure. I’m listening.”

 

+++

 

“You run” Gabriel begins, looking at Jesse’s carefully blank face, “the entire Deadlock gang.”

“Yessir.”

“You are the head of one of the largest local crime groups in the west.”

“Yep.”

“You’re the one who brought them in from New Mexico and got them started in LA.”

“Yeah, Reyes, I did all that. That was me.”

“And you’re telling this to me, a LAPD detective.”

“To be fair,” Jesse says, leaning forward, “you buried bodies for the Deadlock Gang two weeks ago.”

Gabriel leans back in his chair and covers his eyes with one hand. “Didn’t you join the military to get away from the Deadlock boys?”

“Well, that didn’t go so great for me, did it?” Jesse feels the tone on his tongue, the bitterness, and reminds himself he doesn’t blame Gabriel for what happened. Never did. “Turns out I’m real good at crime though.”

“I’ll say. Deadlock’s been a pain in my ass for years. You turned them into something big, McCree.” Gabriel rubs his eyes and glowers down at his mug. “You and your crew are making all the other families nervous.”

“Good.” Jesse says before he can think better of it. Gabriel gives him a sharp look. Jesse tries to ignore it. He made the best of his bad run of luck, managed to make something out of a down and out collection of petty criminals, and done just fine for himself. He does bad things, he hurts people, but he and his clan are safe. He’s okay with that now.

Gabriel had always pushed him, told him he was worth something, that he would be amazing someday. This, what he has now, is close enough. The expression on Gabriel’s face says he disagrees. He should know better by now. He should have realized the day Jesse ran. Besides, Gabriel is the one taking bad money and worse jobs. He has no right.

“Look, Gabriel, I want your help. I trust you. No one will know either of us were doin’ jobs for Deadlock. I won’t force your hand, but --”

“Hold on. Me, sure. How the hell would anyone not know you’re Deadlock?”

Jesse smiles lazily. “You sure didn’t.”

“The police don’t know everything. We barely know anything most of the time. But the other groups? This is their lives.”

“They all think the boss is someone else. No one would talk with someone like me. Too young.” Jesse smiles again. “Too loud. Plus, it frees me up to do things I wouldn’t be able to do otherwise. Lotta folks think I’m some kinda freelance.”

Jesse watches Gabriel mull it over. He pulls on a cool exterior, but he wants Gabriel on his side again. He wants him close. He wants his trust. God, he even still wants to do him proud.

“Fine. Okay. I’m in.” Gabriel drinks his last mouthful of coffee. “What’s the plan?”

Jesse beams.

 

+++

 

McCree screams, and Gabriel can’t see a goddamn thing. He thinks the scream came from his left, that’s where he last saw McCree, that’s where the grenade was coming from, oh God, okay, get on your feet Reyes, go get him.

Half of McCree’s left arm is gone. It’s just gone. This isn’t the first time he’s seen it, of course it isn’t, but repetition doesn't make it any less horrible. McCree is choking on his screams. He pushed me out of the way, Gabriel thinks, and kneels next to McCree. He doesn’t say anything. He doubts McCree would hear him anyway.

He wants to take him to the tent himself, wants to talk to the medical officer and confirm and stay with McCree, but he can’t. He has so many men still on the field, so he passes McCree off and goes back out there. He can’t call a retreat for one man, not when they’re so close to pushing the line forward. He won’t.

They gain 5 metres. Gabriel’s company personally lost 16 men, not including the injured.

Jesse McCree is not among the dead, Gabriel learns, when he finally has time to duck into the medical tent. He’s unconscious and feverish, but what remains of his arm is bound tight and his burn wounds are clean. The medical officer, exhausted and sitting for the first time in several hours, tells Gabriel that he’ll likely live. They’re going to try and move him to the nearest general hospital within the week. They need the beds, desperately, which Gabriel more than understands. He and his men are packed in like sardines as is, and it’s not much better in here.

He saved your life, Gabriel reminds himself, and sits at the foot of McCree’s cot. The medical officer says he probably won’t wake for another day or so, but Gabriel is fine watching him sleep. He’s so goddamn pale from blood loss, Gabriel wonders if he didn’t actually die and they’re just trying to make him feel better. He shifts forward and gently puts a hand on McCree’s chest. It rises and falls, steady, and Gabriel is suddenly aware that his own body is trembling. His ears are still ringing. He almost died for me, Gabriel realizes. He was willing to die -- for me.

He leaves. He has a lot of work to do.

They move McCree to a general hospital further south. Gabriel writes, whenever he has time. The guilt chokes him and makes his letters short, but he makes sure to make the same promise at the end of every letter. We haven’t abandoned you, Jesse. When you get out, I’ll find something for you. This war isn’t forever.

 

(I’ll protect you this time.) (I will keep you safe.) (I will take care of you, if you will let me.)

 

Gabriel gets a letter, three months after McCree is shipped off. Jesse McCree has gone AWOL, escaped from the hospital. No one knows where he is or where he could have gone, but since he left before he could be officially discharged from the army he is now a wanted man. Should Captain Reyes receive missives from Second Lieutenant McCree, he is to report them to his CO. Gabriel thinks he should be livid, but instead he just feels the guilt clench in his chest again. Stupid boy. Stupid man. Stupid war. It’s all so useless.

Three months after that, he wakes up in a plane. Jack is there, and he chokes back a sob when he sees Gabriel wake.

“Gabe, thank god. We thought you wouldn’t pull through.” He says, and calls for his medical officer. It’s a woman, which startles Gabriel slightly, but she’s warm and professional all at once and Gabriel lets her check his bandages. Jack thanks her, and she waves it off before walking away.

“My men?” Gabriel asks, and his voice cracks. Jack puts a hand on his arm, and Gabriel sucks in a breath.

“You were the only one left, Gabe. On both sides. I’m sorry.”

They died for me, Gabriel almost says. Instead, he closes his eyes, and hears screams.

 

+++

 

“Damn you, McCree.” Gabriel says, hauling himself out of the garbage. “No problem, you said. Easy, you said. We don’t need back up, Reyes, we’re fine.”

“Well, we didn’t get shot, did we?” Jesse says, helping him up. “Might change if we don’t mosey on, though. Shall we?”

“Did you even get what you were looking for?”

Jesse smiles, lips barely parting, and pats his jacket. “They won’t know it’s gone until they try and check their ledger tomorrow and find it’s fulla nonsense instead. Come on.”

Gabriel can’t help but laugh at that, and picks up his pace as Jesse jogs out of the alley. “You’re buying me a drink, McCree.”

“I’ll buy you five, boss.”

**Author's Note:**

> My tumblr is boyvandals please yell at me about this au it's consuming me


End file.
